


Hunker

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A little fluffy, Doomsday bunker, M/M, Nonsense, Oneshot, USUK - Freeform, Very brief/subtle mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Alfred loses a bet. Arthur pays a visit.





	Hunker

**Author's Note:**

> The Colorado thing is because of marijuana legalization. This story is old.

The stake had been something about a doomsday bunker and a Parisian street vendor named Marcel, but Alfred couldn’t remember the details. Colorado had made him a right mess, and Matthew found it hilarious; his brother could be a malicious, conniving little Canadian when it suited him.

Despite the haze obscuring his memory of the past few days, Alfred was absolutely sure he had only himself to blame for the situation. Whatever bet he’d taken and subsequently lost was certainly one of his own arrogant and headstrong suggestions. Matthew would have made sure of it, and had probably left before Alfred had sequestered himself. He liked to feign innocence. Alfred did too, but Matthew was a lot better at it.

In the end, the only thing that mattered was the powdered milk, which was blueberry flavored and thus irreparably flawed. His corn flakes were ruined. He was in a sulk.

This wasn’t his best bunker by any means. If anything, it was a glorified concrete cellar. It was buried a mere ten feet beneath the surface of his Virginia home’s garden, lacked many of the bells and whistles his more recent survivalist projects could boast, and was chock full of Tony’s crap.

Still, it would do for his three day sentence. What would _not_ do, by any means, was the milk. It was blueberry. It was a huge blow, a massive injury, and it had occurred so early in the competition. The hero was shaken.

If he were on the surface, he figured, he’d be checking on Dee and Lila, his hens. They were good old girls, those two, Alfred mused. They’d never betray him by producing a blueberry-flavored egg.

Before he could sink into another fit over the milk, there came a very loud and aggressive banging from above.

Rousing himself, Alfred jumped to the wall containing his security screens. Flipping a switch, he watched an old CRT buzz to life, but the image quality was so bad he could only see a blurry mass. It had been a while since he’d installed those cameras, he remembered. He’d thought Tony was keeping up with this crap.

Shaking his head, Alfred decided he was, most likely, not in danger, and that the only thing that would make the situation more unbearable was role-play. His heart just wasn’t in it. He unlocked the hatch.

Soon after, a sighing, grumbling length of man began to descend the ladder. Alfred watched in amusement as Arthur struggled to keep two full shopping bags on his arms and a knapsack on his back, all while endlessly complaining about “paranoid, unrealistic idiots with too much money to spend but not enough sense to build a proper staircase.”

He whirled around once he reached the bottom with an air of “well, I’ve arrived, aren’t you going to say something?” and a pair of furrowed eyebrows.

Alfred just smiled. “I thought you were Marcel.”

Arthur’s mouth opened slightly, but he closed it tight, shook his head twice and dropped his bags.

“He’s a food vendor I think. Something about duck, hah. Can you imagine? Duck?”

Arthur didn’t answer him. He sat on the ground and pulled items from the bags he had brought, which, to Alfred’s delight, mostly appeared to be food.

“Did you bring milk?” Alfred asked hopefully.

Arthur shook his head, and Alfred’s heart sank. The Brit didn’t look up. “Didn’t know if you’d have refrigeration.”

Alfred shook his head. “I’d have finished it in one go.”

Arthur hummed at that. Finished with his unpacking, he stood and began to clear himself a space on Alfred’s desk. Alfred watched with an uncharacteristic patience as Arthur set things straight.

He settled down at last with a sigh, fetching a sealed travel mug from the side-pocket of his knapsack and taking a long drink. Alfred wondered if it was tea. It was probably tea. It was either tea or gin. He’d have to get close to find out.

“Are we to discuss this matter, or shall we try to hold out for as long as we can?” Arthur asked. His lips were sideways in a sly smile, but his eyes were tired.

It was weird that he’d said it outright, and Alfred didn’t know his next step. His mouth tasted like fake blueberries. He had not wondered why Arthur had arrived. Arthur had arrived to put him in his place, which was above ground. No one had put Alfred in this place but himself. Nobody could take him out but Arthur. He didn’t seem enthusiastic about it.

“Aren’t you gonna yell at me?” Alfred tried.

Arthur’s eyes moved slowly, working from the ground up. He looked so tired. He tilted his hand lazily toward Alfred before looking away.

“Who’s Marcel?”

Alfred snorted, but didn’t answer. He felt that Arthur didn’t want one. He couldn’t tell what Arthur wanted, so he just sat across from him and waited. It was warm outside. It was cool in the bunker, and Arthur’s arms were covered in goosebumps. Alfred ran his hand over the arm he could reach, again and again. He tried to smooth it out.

“Should we go up?” He asked, wincing a bit at how quiet and uncertain he could sound. The milk had thrown him off. It had made everything wrong.

Arthur said nothing, but he shifted forward, turning toward Alfred with purpose, and Alfred moved too, without thought or question, closer to the other man.

They kissed in the most ordinary way, in the least spectacular way of all; it was a familiar, comfortable thing, and the bluish glow cast by the cheap fluorescent tubes above made the darkness beneath both of their eyes much more pronounced.

It was embarrassing, Alfred knew, that there was a double bed in his hole in the ground, but he pushed Arthur into it happily, and only grinned harder when he heard him complain that he hadn’t changed the sheets.


End file.
